Page 12 of Innocent Union
“I remember that. They spit up all over her new dress.”
“That’s right.” She reaches over and squeezes my arm. “We’re going to find you a beautiful dress so perfect no man will be able to look away from you. And I promise, no spit-up on your dress. You’re going to look perfect for this ball.” She fluffs my hair, then frowns like she always forgets my hair doesn’t fluff very well.
I start looking for dresses when Lucia saunters over. “Nothing you find will look good on you.”
“Nice talking to you, too, Lucia. Hey, question. When are you going to stop acting like a brat and grow up?”
She huffs and walks away. I smile to myself. Maybe it’s petty to feel like I’m winning over my kid sister, but hey, a win is a win.
“Luca, don’t touch that!” Mom shouts, running over to where Luca’s trying to push over a mannequin. Even though the twins are no longer babies, it seems like they can still act like they are.
I remember when I was a kid. I was the most spoiled little girl. I’m amazed I never pulled the antics Lucia and Luca do. Granted, they have each other. I never had anyone to play with. Emilia, Gemma, and Francesca were all so much older than me. And Cecilia had Antonio to play with, which just left me, alone most of the time.
There was one time I got in trouble as a kid.
I was eight, and my dad had just died.
My entire family was still in mourning, and Uncle Franco had moved in, making everyone uncomfortable.
My family has having dinner, and it was a somber affair. Emilia had already left to marry her husband, Marco. But the rest of us were still there, still grieving for our dad, and mad that Franco was bossing us around.
“You should act more like your sister,” Franco told Gemma, who was sixteen at the time. “She’s marrying Marco Aldi. She’ll bring more power to this family.”
Gemma shuddered, claiming, “I’m never getting married.”
Franco smirked. “We’ll see about that.” I always marveled at how much he looked like my dad. I knew they were brothers, but still … It was uncanny, especially because they weren’t twins.
Franco caught me looking at him. “And what about you, young Mia? What do you think of marriage?”
“She’s eight,” Gemma retorted.
“I was talking to your sister.” Franco kept his eyes on me. “So, Mia? What do you think?”
As an eight-year-old, Franco terrified me for reasons I didn’t understand. “I think I’m too young to get married.”
Franco burst out laughing, so loud everyone felt uncomfortable. I could tell from the glances my siblings exchanged. It was like they all had this perfect understanding with each other, and I didn’t understand a thing.
Mom reached over and stroked my hair back. “You don’t have to get married anytime soon, Mia. Not until you’re older. Ok? You’ll make us all proud one day.”
Franco grunted. “The girl better. All your kids better make good marriage matches. They have a duty to his family.”
“You make us sound like cattle,” Gemma said, scowling.
“In a way, you are,” Franco responded.
I turned to my mom, expecting her to say something to Franco, but she stayed quiet. There was a fear in her eyes I’dnever seen before. She’d never acted that way with my dad. With Dad, she’d praise or scold him. It didn’t matter. She felt free to do so. But with Franco, it was clear to me, even as a child, that something was off with her.
Seeing my mom like that stirred something inside me. I hated Franco for moving into our house after my father died. It was like he was trying to replace him.
It caused me to become so angry that I grabbed my plate and threw it on the ground, screaming at the top of my lungs. Everyone, except Franco, jumped.
“Mia?” Mom said, pulling me into her arms. “What’s the matter?”
I kept screaming and screaming. Franco’s eyes on me the entire time. I knew if I kept his attention on me, he couldn’t do anything to anyone else.
“You need to punish her for being a brat,” Franco told my mom. “A good spanking will do.” He rolled up his sleeves. “I can do it.”
“No,” Mom growled, pulling me even closer to her. “I will not spank my daughter. She just lost her father. Mia, honey. Stop screaming.” I did, letting my mom bring me into a hug. “Don’t even suggest spanking my daughter.”
